XFuns Design Magazine

I received two copies of XFuns last night, the Taiwanese design magazine that recently did a feature on my photography. The interview was done last November, and I was beginning to wonder whether it would ever arrive, but as soon as I had forgotten about it and started to worry about other things, boom, it shows up. Honestly, I can't express how flattering the whole piece is. Quite simply, the magazine is beautiful, with a ton of cool art from all over the world, and to see fourteen of my photographs, including the self-portrait I took with a gun pointed at my head (which led to an amusing digression on the phone last night with my mom), let alone my name featured prominently on the front cover, was just too much to process. I mean, they make it seem like I'm this famous artist, and not some guy struggling to make it through each day, which now means, when asked how things came about, I can answer, "I'm big in Taiwan" with a straight face.

Anyway, it's impossible to find this magazine at your local newsstand here in the States, and I can't even find it on amazon, but I'm waiting to hear from the editor how to purchase additional copies. I know it can be done from their website, but everything is in Chinese, so I don't feel comfortable advising folks to go there. The basic details, though, are as follows, if you'd really like to see the article.

XFUNS Creative and Design Magazine
Issue #28
ISSN 1683-1678

Zodiac

Finally saw Zodiac Monday night. I can't say it's is a great film, nor that it compares with Fincher's other masterpieces, Seven and Fight Club, respectively, but once you get past that, it's a pretty interesting little film, about the search for the killer, which ultimately becomes this journey for narrative itself.

It was bizarre to see it at The Metreon, though, because the story is set here in the city, and it's hard not to let you mind wander for a second and think, whoa, they never caught the real killer, and he could be sitting here in the audience, laughing at the irony of seeing his life on the big screen.

Anyway, I liked the fact that the narrative focused on the detective and journalist work (and how we get to see the inner workings of a big city newspaper), rather than romanticizing the assailant and justifying the reasons why he killed. I also thought it was interesting to see how the Zodiac developed his own "brand" - this crosshair-like symbol that he included in every letter he sent to police and newspapers throughout the Bay Area. In his own way, the Zodiac killer created the perfect counterpoint to the harmonious peace/love thing the Bay Area was synonymous with during the summer of love, and foreshadowed the Altamont Free Concert tragedy a few months later, which, for all purposes, was the de facto end of the 1960s.

And as always, Robert Downey Jr. is amazing, although playing a witty but out-of-control reporter with substance abuse problems was hardly a stretch for him.

Nothing's Wrong

Strange Connection

I was on my way to work this morning, and it's already a hot one, so as I was climbing Mason Street and reached the apex, right in front of the Fairmont Hotel, there were these two heavy set women staring at me. It felt like they were critiquing me for some reason, so I gave them a hard look, like, what did I do? And then they both smiled, and one of em asked, "Will you take a photograph of us with the bay in the background? You look tired but we thought you might be nice." I was cutting it close as far as work goes, but it's Friday, and I could always stay late if need be, so I put my espresso down and said, sure, what the hell. But instead of just snapping a quick shot these two ladies started posing like starlets (head up chin out, arms through the hair) and then jokingly started fondling each other and being silly, which must of looked ridiculous to all the passing traffic. At first I was like, hurry the fuck up, I need to get to work, but then one of them explained that they had recently gone on the Jenny Craig diet, and wanted to send these shots to their families, to show them what their new bodies looked like in a kind of "How do you like me now?" way. I had a similar experience with a deranged woman at an old job a few years ago, in a parking lot in Rancho Cordova, so the deja vu factor, with two lesbians this time, was startling.

Anyway, at the end of our impromptu photo shoot, after I had fired off a whole roll on their portable plastic camera, they thanked me for the time and sent me on my way with a five spot, for the trouble, which I initially refused to take, but then the talkative one elbowed me in the ribs in what was supposed to be a friendly way (but turned out to really hurt) and said, "Go get a blueberry crumb cake on us," which just blew me away, because that's what I was on my way to doing anyway, with or without their tip.

How did they know? Who were these pear-shaped hussies anyway, and why do they always stop me?

Inquiring minds want to know.

Day One

It's tournament time, which means I'm struck with this weird electricity in my veins. Part of me tries to avoid looking at the brackets each day on espn.com, because it makes me want to log on to some offshore Caribbean sports gambling site and put in a few six-point, hundred-dollar teasers before the field thins out. Another side starts to reminisce about my glory days in high school. Earlier tonight, as I was waiting in line at Nick's for a steak burrito, they had Gonzaga-Indiana on in the corner, and I instantly flashed back to this driving layup I made at the end of the McClatchy Christmas Classic to seal a victory my sophomore year, and literally, I began to get tingles down my spine, and my brow started to get warm, and boom, I was right there, running down the court with my teammates. It sounds funny, I know, but even at thirty-two, it felt like it was just yesterday.

Anyway, I watched every game of the Big-12 tournament last weekend, and outside of my personal obsession with ensuring that Kevin Durant gets picked by the Celtics in June, I loved watching Kansas play. Julian Wright is an assassin in the paint, with an assortment of spin moves, and when he gets doubled he always finds the open man. I don't say this about college prospects often, but he's a great passer. Add Mario Chalmers, Brandon Rush and Sherron Collins, and you have four future NBA players, and perhaps the deepest, most talented squad in the nation. Here's the thing, though. They are notoriously bad in the first two rounds, so while they're my pick to win it all, they will be pushed at some point this opening weekend. I mean a real scare too. If they escape, then their next test won't come until Florida, in the semifinal round of the final four. That matchup, if it all comes to fruition, might be the game of the decade. For the first time in a few years, I'm really looking forward to how things shape up.

I say Kansas takes it all. If you happen to follow my advice and make a small wager, and they lose somewhere along the way, well, I can't be held responsible. It says so in the small print. But if they win the whole thing, I insist on the customary 10% off the top.

Small unmarked bills, a white envelope, do it on the sly.

There

Her: Hi, Rob!
(silence.)
Him: What do you want?
Her: Ummmmmm, to say hello?
Him: Hello.
Her: What the fuck is your problem? This isn't easy, you know?
Him: It shouldn't be easy.
(silence.)
Her: I read your book.
Him: Good for you.
Her: I guess you showed me.
Him: If that's how you choose to see it.
Her: Is there any other way to see it?
Him: Perhaps.
(silence.)
Her: I couldn't help but laugh at that scene where you had me talking to the plant.
Him: Yeah, wasn't that a hoot?
(silence.)
Her: Look, I'm sorry. I really am. I did a lot of fucked up shit and it's taken me a long time to really get it, you know?
Him: Yeah, six years.
Her: Glad to see you're the bigger person here.
Him: What did you expect? I mean, what do you want from me? Were we supposed to make plans for sushi?
(silence.)
Her: Is there anything else you want to say to me before I go?
Him: Not really.
(silence.)
Her: Look, you can act all indifferent but I know you, better than anyone, still. (silence.) I'm sorry. It was my fault. There, I said it. Now be human. Talk to me.
(silence.)
Him: Actually, there was one more thing.
Her: What's that?
(silence.)
Him: Fuck off, Jen.

Summer at Ikea

This is one of the more innovative sales catalogs I've seen in quite some time.

Don't Know What To Do With You

A friend of mine is the lead singer of this really cool band called The Mentalists, and they just launched their first video, Don't Know What To Do With You, which is fucking awesome. Just click play.

Through Her Eyes

This short is really cool.

Weekend Recap

Walk On By

I've always admired the ingenuity of an elderly person who - in lieu of a proper set of wheels - attaches tennis balls to their walker. This tells me they can adapt to change. It also suggests a certain degree of feistiness, like damn, I'm not throwing away a perfectly good walker just because these wheels have gotten rusty, or buying an expensive pair of new ones that cost more than the entire unit. Oh no. I can just open a can of Wilson number twos and get back to rollin'.

These are the type of thoughts I've been having lately.

For real.

Trembling Alive

Last night I was sitting at my desk, doing some reading, when my keyboard started shaking, then the floor beneath me trembled, and suddenly it donned on me that we were having an earthquake. Being the neurotic that I am, I darted into the doorway, grabbed each side of the frame, squatted, and braced for the worst. Of course nothing further happened, although over the next hour it felt like there were several after-shocks. I checked on Jennifer, my housemate, a few minutes later, thinking she would be freaked out, but I found her lying in bed, half-asleep, and she approached the subject with a bemused smile. She's lived in the city long enough to have experienced far more of these than I have. (Or perhaps the idea of this being "the end" was indeed a welcome escape from her own troubles?) A few minutes later, after thinking for a second that I might have imagined the whole thing, I noticed on sfgate that it was a 4.2 trembler. This comes on the heals of a 3.4 quake last Friday afternoon, which I felt here in the office, although the girls downstairs in the actual gallery didn't notice a thing, and looked at me in a bizarre way when I first broached the subject.

Last year, at about this time (give or take a month or two), I decided to move to SF, and the decision came the day before the 100th anniversary of the big quake in 1906 that destroyed most of the city. I just chuckled when every major network ran stories about how unprepared we are for the next big one. It's not like I'm suddenly living in fear, though. It's just weird to imagine the worst-case scenario, and how helpless we are to do anything about it. I mean, yeah, we have a little kit at the house, and we have plenty of bottled water and canned vegetables handy, but in the long run, what's 3-4 days of supplies going to do if the city gets wiped out?

I guess we just have to be a little lucky, as my grandfather used to say.

On such a pleasant note, let me just say, have a great weekend, my dear little friends out there. I'm either going to crash the Dandy Warhols show tonight, or I'm going to lay in bed with the first three episodes of Decalogue followed by Babel, both of which arrived yesterday, and reflect on the nothingness of nothingness, as our beloved Jack used to say in Dharma Bums.

Dinner in the Sky

What bizarre times we live in.